


But Still; the Weakest Must Go

by Draikinator



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Foreshadowing, Gen, Lost Light 2, Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draikinator/pseuds/Draikinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sure, you're on-course and the sparkeater issue has been resolved, but the Captain is dead and you're the only one on this stupid ship who knows how to write a proper fucking speech.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Still; the Weakest Must Go

Your speeches are wonderful.

They always have been, really, no matter what shitty turn life has hit you with, you've always been eloquent in a way you couldn't quite explain. Charismatic despite your antisocial behaviour, well-spoken despite your background. A gift, perhaps the only one the universe ever saw fit to give you.

You fucking hate it.

You hate how well the words are rolling off your glossae right now, how easy you find it to speak to this somber crowd.

"...While his goals may have been lofty, they were well intentioned. While he may have been overly optimistic to some regard, while his ambitions may have been to grand for any of us to have ever truly achieved, he gave us hope in a way we'd not yet witnessed in far too long."

Chromedome looks upset, doubled over in his seat with his head in his hands- but he'd never been very good at handling grief, to any extent, though you've never known him  _that_  well. Rewind keeps squeezing his hand in a subtle way you think he doesn't think you notice, because your optics are trained over his head, because  _you_ , unlike everyone else here, know how to properly deliver a damned speech.

Whirl is fiddling with his claws, distracted, Cylclonus is sitting more respectfully than you want to admit and Ratchet has his dentae gritted from the fifth row. Everyone looks upset, but no one looks  _sad._

You don't even like this stupid funeral. It isn't  _proper._  Rodimus was never very religious, but he'd been talking to you for some time and he had said, he had  _said_ , that he wanted a  _spectralist_  funeral. A proper send off, because it was important to  _you_  and  _you_  were important to  _him_  and he liked the idea of the whole thing. He was coming around, slowly but steadily, and you honestly didn't even want to do this whole ridiculous public affair nonsense because it wasn't what he  _wanted_.

But you never get what you want and you never did and now your best friend is dead, so it looks like your luck is as infectuous as it is eternal. Congratulations.

"Rodimus was brilliant, a burning star that couldn't possibly have supported itself. Were it not for his sacrifice, I would not be standing here today mourning him. None of us would. He saved us, as he always has, or at least, as he's always tried to."

You almost wish your tanks weren't as strong as they were from years of internal abuse, because you kind of want to purge right now and you're pretty sure if you did you could go back to your habsuite and hide from the world for a few weeks and no one would question it. But they are, so you don't.

"My only solace is that he saw the end of the war that took our world from us before his demise, though it is a small comfort knowing that he never had the opportunity to enjoy a life of peace, ever, not after all that fighting. We owe it to him, nay, to  _all_  of our dead, to make that war worth it. To find the Knights like he wanted, to continue his quest, unabated, no matter what. We deserve that. We deserve this. Rodimus did not."

You sit in the front row and watch the other speakers as politely as you can. Ultra Magnus says a few words, but their official, and emotionless, though you suspect that he just has no idea how to speak emotionally. He leaves the room immediately afterward.

The little kickboxing minibot you all picked up before launch, Tailgate, stops you in the hall to tell you he's sorry for your loss and you want to be polite, you want to be respectful. You want to say thank you, and you want to nod silently like your faith teaches you too.

You snap and bury your sword in the wall, shrieking that he has  _no idea_  what loss is. He scampers off and part of you knows he'll never trust you again but it's hard to see beyond the optical lubricant gumming up your shutters and your vocalizer is hiccuping static and your servos are shaking  _hard_  and all you can do is yank your sword out of the wall and throw yourself into a hallway closet to sob, clutching your head by your audial flares, disabling your vocalizer and screaming silently at a world that couldn't let you have  _just this one fucking thing._

Three days later Magnus tells you that since you've been bankrolling this whole thing, you're the best fit for Captain now, because that's not how he operates and he doesn't even  _want_  to be Captain and you're not certain you do either, but you don't know what else to do so you accept.

You owe it to him to find the Knights. To not give up, no matter what. To continue the quest, despite all obstacles, despite all tragedies.

The quest must go on.


End file.
